


How would you like to fly?

by thecrackshiplollipop



Category: Glee
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-28
Updated: 2013-04-28
Packaged: 2017-12-09 19:16:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/777052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecrackshiplollipop/pseuds/thecrackshiplollipop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone knows Santana's favourite song is Justin Timberlake's Señorita.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How would you like to fly?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ratherembarrassing](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ratherembarrassing/gifts).



> Happy (belated) Birthday, Ashleigh!

Lopez: Where are u?  
Chang: B there in 20  
Lopez: Hurry, Rach wants to do karaoke

* * *

 “Mike and Sam will be here in twen-” Santana looks up from her phone and almost knocks her drink off the table when she doesn’t find Rachel sitting across from her. Her Long Island iced tea is there, sweating a ring into the pitted veneer of the table, and her purse is sitting next to it, but Rachel is-

“ _Ladies and gentlemen._ ”

Santana’s head snaps up when Pharrell’s voice filters out over the bar’s speakers.

_No way._

“ _And he goes by the name…_ ”

“Rachel!” Santana smacks her face before she can stop herself and wonders if Rachel would object to being dragged off of the stage. By her hair.

Actually they would both probably enjoy that a lot.

Santana tries not to launch off her seat but the urge is there, because Rachel is standing in a shaft of dark red light on the little half-stage at the back of the bar, gripping the mic stand like it’s a crutch, and giving the whole bar bedroom eyes.

“I’m gonna sing a song,” she chuckles into the mic, her voice thick with confidence. Santana contemplates finishing Rachel’s iced tea because her whiskey sour isn’t cutting it. “About _this_ girl.” She’s pointing at Santana and, come on the bar is not big enough for that. A few heads turn to follow her point and there are smiles, a few cat calls, but when the bartender hollers “oh yeah!” Santana feels ready to dissolve into the floor.

Rachel’s movements are loose, unguarded. Santana’s dance teacher would call them sloppy, unrefined. But she’s rolling her hips, singing JT’s dumbest song with such passion that Santana’s dance teacher can drown in the Hudson. She’s sure if she should feel flattered rather than embarrassed. She’s only buzzed (MTA can suck her dick for making her late, again) so her head is clear enough to go for the ‘embarrassed’ option. But Rachel’s eyes are dark and glassy and she’s staring at Santana with all of this unspoken intent. Santana’s skin flashes hot and she tries to level Rachel with her best glare.

Really, they weren't supposed to start karaoke until _after_ the guys showed up.

Rachel never looks at the prompter because she knows JT’s entire repertoire by heart and it comes in handy more often than Santana would have believed. Instead, she slides the mic stand between her legs and leans forward, moaning “ _ah, ah, arms_ ” as she locks eyes with this chick sitting at the front. She has remarkable balance for someone tanked on Long Islands and wearing three-inch heels. Her lips curve into this knowing smile, like she can see Santana seething despite the fact that she’s looking all over the people in the front row.

Santana decides she’s nowhere near drunk enough to deal with the second-hand embarrassment of everyone in the bar knowing her girlfriend has that song memorised, so she signals to Luz for another drink and polishes off the last of her whiskey sour. And then for shits and giggles, throws back the rest of Rachel’s drink and slams the glass down with a little more bravado than necessary. The heat of the alcohol rushes right between her legs and she licks her lips to have something else to focus on, especially when she watches Rachel roll her hips against the mic stand.

Santana turns around to check on the status of that drink order, trying to distract herself long enough shake the needy haze that’s clouding her mind. Chang and Trouty are probably getting off the subway now and she really doesn’t have time to-

“Guys sing.”

It’s way too early in the evening for the entire bar to be so thoroughly drunk but Santana’s pretty sure that has to be the case because they’re actually singing along with her.

“ _Girls_ sing-”

The girl Rachel had made eye contact earlier is sharing the mic with Rachel. She’s tall and tanned and looks like a younger version of Heidi Klum. She wraps her long fingers around Rachel’s, holding the mic steady and drapes her other arm around Rachel’s waist. Rachel looks so damned pleased that it flips the switch in some primitive part of Santana’s brain and makes her pay very close attention. When Rachel steps back onto the stage she watches the other girl slip something into the waistband of Rachel’s skirt and that same primitive part of her brain goes so hot with rage that she crumples the plastic cup Rachel’s Long Island was in.

Rachel’s giggling at the song’s end, the sound rippling over the shriek of feedback as she shoves the mic back into its stand. She’s worming through the crowd by the time the music’s done and the applause are a little infectious because Santana is clapping, but she’s never letting Rachel get to the bar early again. She never catches Luz’s eye but that’s okay because Rachel is back at their table, flushed and glowing and Santana’s caveman brain pushes her to react. She grabs Rachel’s wrist before she can stop herself and hauls her through the crowd.

Rachel lets out a strangled moan when she realises where Santana is dragging her, but she doesn’t pull away. Santana feels Rachel’s fingers flex around her wrist and she practically shivers in anticipation. There’s literally nothing more perfect than the doe eyed look she gives Santana when she pushes Rachel into the bathroom and engages the door’s lock.

Rachel chews on the fullest part of her bottom lip, but can’t hide her smirk when Santana turns around.

“That wasn’t very nice,” Santana arches a brow and tries hard to look serious.

“What do you mean?” Rachel smiles innocently, but advances on Santana so she has to back into the bathroom door. Santana’s lips twitch, flashing a smile, and she tries to ignore how hot Rachel pinning her to the door is.

“We were literally talking about you not singing songs _to_ me before we got here.”

“Oh… _right_ …”

“And that girl-”

“Moya. She’s Irish. Isn’t she gorgeous?”

“She gave you-” Santana’s pretty sure Rachel is pulling her fucking leg but, drunk, and possessive, Santana’s unable to stop the way she almost spits the words out.

“Her number?” Rachel fishes the piece of paper out of the waistband of her skirt. The handwriting is messy and loopy. Santana doesn’t even read what’s scribbled there, just crumples it again and tosses it at the trashcan where it lands limply on the dirty ground.

Rachel licks her lips, slow and deliberate so Santana has to follow the movement with her eyes. She drops her hand to her side and watches as Rachel’s gaze drifts down her front. She’s wearing that top Rachel loves, the sleeveless one that clings in all the right places and is cut so low that she can’t wear it unless she wants to get jumped by Rachel in the bathroom. (She usually wants to get jumped by Rachel in the bathroom.)

Santana grabs Rachel’s hips, flexing her fingers so Rachel’s skirt tightens across her ass, and pulls her in for a kiss. Rachel groans against Santana’s mouth and grabs Santana’s wrists, gripping her almost too tightly.

“Hey.” Santana whines and tilts her head back, almost slamming it against the bathroom door.'

“You didn’t even _thank_ me for that song,” Rachel grins, kissing down Santana’s jaw and settling to tease her teeth against Santana’s pulse.

“I-”

“That’s not very fair. I sang it for you.” There’s a hint of whining in Rachel’s voice but she tugs one of Santana’s hands off her hip. Santana grunts in protest, focusing more on the fact that her fingernails are now dragging across the front of Rachel’s skirt. “ _Touch me_.”

“Fuck.” Santana squeezes her eyes shut tight until specks of colour float through the darkness. Rachel moans against Santana’s neck and rolls her hips at the empty space between them, the space where Santana’s hands should be.

“That’s what I meant,” Rachel chuckles and kisses Santana hard, pulling at Santana’s bottom lip with her teeth. It’s one of Santana’s buttons, Rachel knows that, and the moan that slips out is vulgar and needy. She twists both of her hands free of Rachel’s grasp and slides her palms up the front of Rachel’s body.

“Shouldn’t we... switch?” Santana moves her hands until she’s cupping Rachel’s tits through her shirt.

“No.” Rachel tugs Santana’s hand down again. Santana doesn’t need another set of instructions so she keeps moving her hand down until she finds the hem of Rachel’s skirt. She’s grateful for Rachel’s short skirt, as usual, and jerks it up over Rachel’s thighs without pausing. She’s also grateful for Rachel’s choice in footwear, because her decision to wear flats has placed Rachel at almost the perfect height for this.

She wastes no time in cupping Rachel through her panties, palming the hot, damp material with a soft moan. Rachel hisses and leans into Santana for another kiss. Santana shuts her eyes, feeling Rachel’s hips roll against the pressure of her palm for a few beats before pulling her hand back and tugging her panties aside.

Rachel is already so wet that Santana doesn’t need to tease, but she does, because Rachel’s impatient whimper against Santana’s mouth is like fucking drug. Santana slips two fingers in a messy circle around Rachel’s clit, never giving enough pressure to actually get Rachel anywhere, and Rachel is tilting her hips against the touch trying to ride Santana’s hand even though she refuses to give her enough.

“ _Please_ ,” Rachel hisses and bites Santana’s bottom lip hard enough to make her wince. Santana slides her fingers down and curves them inside Rachel, making her gasp “yes” and press against Santana’s hand.

It’s not really comfortable, Rachel is practically riding Santana’s hand and the angle is awkward enough for Santana she can’t really move aside from rolling Rachel’s clit under her thumb. But it’s enough, for now, and Rachel is already so close Santana’s not sure how much longer she’ll be able to last.

It doesn’t take much. With Santana’s thumb stroking firm circles around Rachel’s clit and her fingers curling and flexing inside Rachel, she lasts only a little while longer, her hips jerking erratically against Santana’s hand before she goes still. Santana feels her muscles constrict around her fingers and Rachel moans,  the note stretched out over the beat to a Cher song from the main bar, before dropping her head onto Santana’s shoulder.

“Rach, I-”

“Just… wait.” Rachel pants, her body shaking a little against Santana’s. Santana just nods and wraps her free arm around Rachel’s waist, holding her up while even though her other wrist protests the awkward angle it’s bent at.

She’s pretty sure she’ll regret it in the morning, but the warm hum of alcohol in her veins just makes the pain roll through her pleasure centre first. She needs to get Rachel home now or she’s going to explode. S suggest Rachel reciprocate then and there, but the last time Santana mentioned Rachel getting on her knees in a public bathroom they didn’t speak for a week. The image is enough to make Santana moan a little and she feels Rachel chuckle, her lashes brushing Santana’s bare shoulder.

Oh yeah, fuck karaoke night.

She pulls her fingers out of Rachel gently and then wipes them on her jeans. She smirks at the flushed, almost embarrassed look on Rachel’s face, and kisses Rachel quickly to keep her from saying anything.

"We’re going home.” She pushes off of the door as Rachel tugs her skirt back into place.

“But what about the guys?” Rachel runs her fingers through her hair and wipes Santana’s lip gloss off of her mouth.

“They’ll understand.” Santana steps to the sink and washes her hands before straightening her hair in the mirror. She turns back to Rachel and raises her brow.

Rachel doesn’t protest, but does insist on stopping at the bar to pay their tab.

* * *

Trouty: Where r u?  
Tana: Family emergency.  
Trouty: GET IT LOPEZ.


End file.
